The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 6

by Jakubowski Maxim

  “Vinny, don’t,” I whisper, closing my eyes. I can’t look at him right now.

  He kisses me on the temple and smoothes his hand down the back of my hair. His scent in my nose, his presence strong, his voice gentle, “Come home.” His hand under my hair now, strong on the back of my neck, while his other one settles on my exposed knee, electrifying me.

  I don’t pull away. I look at him. “Hey Vin. How about you come out here?” I already know it’s hopeless.

  “I am here.” He snakes his hand up my thigh, his fingers edging under the hem of my skirt.

  “No,” I push him back before I get weaker and dumber. “I mean, you stay here. You could do that. We could do that.” And again, he lets me look him in the eyes.

  Maybe it’s not hopeless. But now he dimples a sly smile, takes his hands off me, leans back. Saying, “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Sugar. Come on.”

  “Vin, I have insane money. You said so. I’ll stop. I’ll stop right now and we’ll have that ...”

  “Lana,” he shushes me. He’s being unusually patient with me, maybe he can smell my desperation. “You know I’ll do anything for you, babe. Except that. You know my life.”

  “Change your life, Vin. For me, change it.”

  Lowering his voice, leaning closer, “This thing of ours, you know it doesn’t work like that. I was born to this, same as you.”

  “Yeah, I was born to it. That doesn’t mean I have to marry into it. You don’t have to carry it out.”

  Leaning in, growling through clenched teeth, “I took an oath. You want me end up with a bullet in my fuckin’ brains?”

  I don’t flinch, but he does when he realizes what he just said. I grab hold of his wrist and stay collected. “That’s exactly what I don’t want. Think about what you’re asking me to go back to – this thing of ours. Is that what you want for me? To be Mrs Vincent Vendetti?”

  “It wouldn’t be like that,” he shakes his head.

  “Right,” I scoff and release his arm. “My whole life I was Joey Rossi’s daughter. Now you want me to be Vincent Vendetti’s wife.”

  “Like it was so awful being his daughter? You’d be ashamed to be my wife?”

  “I loved my dad, Vin. And I love you. God help me, I do.”

  “So what’s the fuckin’ problem?”

  “The life, Vin, is the problem. Out here, suddenly, the name Rossi is mine. Yeah, it’s still connected with my dad. But now when people talk of Joey Rossi, they’re saying what his daughter did. They’re talking about Miss Rossi. Me and this monster streak. That’s what they’ll think of first from now on. Not some gangster who took a bullet in the brain.”

  “So that’s what this is about then.”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. Part of me thought . . . I guess I hoped it was for us, too.”

  “So you’ve done it, babe. You’ve made your name. You’ve given your dad another memory. Finish it if you want. But then, come home.”

  “To be what?” I shout.

  Vin shifts in his seat and sweeps his eyes across the room. When he’s satisfied that everyone’s ignoring us, he gives me a look and then his attention again. Simply saying, “To be my wife.”

  “Exactly,” I sigh.

  I am an anomaly. I’m in love with a man who wants me to be his wife. He’d give me any wedding I wanted, money to burn, protect me, and love me forever. And I don’t want it.

  “To be your wife. To cook and keep the house and ignore the cumares you’re gonna have. To become Mrs Vincent Vendetti.”

  “You know that’s bullshit. I wouldn’t hold you down or run around. I’m old school some ways, sugar, but don’t pin that shit on me.”

  I don’t know what to believe. I’m in love with him enough right now to believe him. But it doesn’t matter. I try again by telling him the truth.

  “I heard the shot,” I tell him. He drops his eyes, he knows what I’m talking about. I’ve never said the words before, but I say them now. “I was upstairs, and I heard the shot from my window. Dad was coming over for dinner. I heard it, and I knew right away, I just knew what’d happened. So I ran downstairs, and in the lobby of my building, all alone, I found him.” Vinny puts his arm around me, consoling. I force myself on. “I didn’t, I didn’t know what to do. I knew he was dead, I mean, there was no way he wasn’t. The blood, it was, it was awful. It was everywhere. And there were chunks in it. Big, glopping, slimy chunks.”

  “Stop it,” Vinny whispers.

  But I don’t. “Red, purple, some still oozing out of him. His eyes were open. Know what the worst was? His foot was twitching. It was jerking, nearly his whole leg moving, so I thought, I thought maybe he was alive. I knew he couldn’t be, his skull was everywhere, his brains were splattered all over the place. But there was still something there, something making his body fight and work. I went over, I guess I thought I could help him, maybe, I don’t know. But when I went over, I slipped and fell. I fell in all that blood, and it was still warm. Warm and thick and wet. His blood, his death, it was all over me.”

  Vinny swallows hard, but somehow he meets my gaze.

  I don’t stop.

  “And now you’re asking me to sit back and wait for that to happen to you. I can’t do it. It’s too risky, Vin. That’s a gamble I won’t make.”

  He just leans close again and strokes my hair, so warm and strong I could almost, almost melt into him. Very soft, for my ear only, he whispers it to me. “I took care of that business while you’ve been away. Tied up every loose end.”

  It should make my blood run cold. Instead it warms me even more.

  It’s a long time before he breaks the mood by stretching back in his seat and saying, “I’m glad you’re doing well out here, babe.”

  Unfortunately, that’s the drawback to growing up with someone. You end up knowing that person really well. I know the look in his eyes right now. He heard me, he understood me. But he’s still not accepting it.

  I pull him up and make him take me for a walk outside. It feels good to be away from the casino, just to be with someone who’s not being paid to be nice to me. Especially while moving under all these unnatural, unreal lights. Pinks and golds; bouncing down and mingling, casting a jaded sheen across the night. I notice how much even this street has changed. There just aren’t as many lights anymore. The places are more low-key, supposedly classier. It’s still bright enough, but the days of pulsing, retina-blinding neon are nearly gone. That old Las Vegas is dead. But the memory remains. People still think of it that way. The illusion’s being upheld.

  Unfortunately, we stop in front of the Mirage to watch the volcano go off. The steam and fire and forceful explosions that climax in a roar and then settle into fading aftershocks conspire with Vinny’s body, pressed tight against my back, to set my pulse throbbing.

  He’s got one arm around my waist, lazily rubbing his hand across my stomach. His chin rested on my shoulder, his breath on my neck. His other hand, it sneaks up side. Under my arm, beside my breast, just his fingertips stroking the naked skin of my ribs; tickling and shivering me there, searing me inside.

  I can feel his heat and muscle pressed against me. But then, I feel something harder than him. It actually is a gun in his pocket. He couldn’t have flown here with a gun, not even him, not with the new security. I’m not shocked he managed to pick one up. I am disappointed that he took care of business before coming to see me.

  But, sadly, I understand. And now he nuzzles my neck with a libidinous growl, and rubs his hands low on my tummy. It gets me hotter than that volcano spewing fire.

  I let him take me back inside. But I steer him into another bar before I make a regrettable mistake. Just the thought of being with him makes my breath go shallow and fevers me, so I know he’ll win this battle of wills.

  But I’m determined to win the war.

  Coy, I put my hand on his thigh. The vibe from him is unmistakable, he’s oozing lust worse than I am. I tell hi
m, “I’ve done nearly everything in this city. All but one thing.”

  “Yeah, what’s that, Rossi?” He downs his fresh drink in one long pull.

  “Probably the most traditional one, besides gambling. I’ve played games, seen lights. They’ve given me fight tickets and limo rides. I guess it’s ’cause I’m a female that they don’t offer me hookers.”

  He laughs. “You want a hooker, huh, Rossi?”

  I shrug. “I won’t feel like I’ve fully experienced the place until I’ve paid for sex.”

  “Never knew you swung both ways, babe,” he says and raises his eyebrows, lifts his empty glass and chews on some ice. “Can’t say I’m totally opposed to the idea.”

  “Not a woman, stunade,” I laugh. “They have guys.”

  His jaw throbs and face flushes. Maybe he does have an idea how I’d feel about him getting side action on me.

  “Relax,” I say and move my hand higher up his thigh. “Maybe you’d be interested in the job.”

  “Check!” he signals for the waitress.

  I slow him down. “You do understand the appeal of it, right?”

  “Sugar, I understand the appeal. I understand it enough that you don’t need to pay me.”

  “No, you’re not getting it, Vin. It’s not just sex. It’s freedom. It’s anything the person wants – at a price. They can talk, they can connect, or they can just fuck. It’s as empty or meaningful as they want. But when it’s over, it’s over. Capisce?”

  He looks down at my hand on his leg, then looks away and shakes his head. He capisces.

  “Name your price, Vin.”

  “Lana, I’m not . . .”

  “A million bucks.”

  “Are you fuckin’ insane?”

  “How about this, I’ll make it two. I’ll have to pay you with a casino check and you’ll have to pay taxes. So I’ll make it two.”

  He stares at me, incredulous. But he’s not saying no.

  Oh. Vinny.

  I stand up and flip him my room key. I throw money on the table to cover the check, and tell him I’ll meet him upstairs.

  He grabs my arm. “You’re really serious about this?”

  “When it’s over. It’s over. Forever.” I pull away and head to the casino office.

  I try to stay poised. But as I’m waiting for the elevator, Fly Me To The Moon wafts through the overhead speakers and I can’t help but hum along. Vinny opens the door, and I hold the check up high for him to see. A throaty whisper, all he says is my name. “Lana.”

  I realize I haven’t just been horny, I’ve been lonely.

  In bed, he goes slow at first. His ID bracelet is cool against my skin but his hands are warm as they trace along my arms, my legs, my stomach, my everywhere, heating me. His kisses, those start gentle too, but soon he’s devouring my mouth. His hand cups my breast, squeezing it from the fleshiness of the underside, pushing my nipple up and out so that it brushes against his hard chest, making it long for his fingers. That’s when he thrusts his tongue deep against mine.

  His boxers still on, me naked under him, he gets wilder, rougher. He presses against me, his pelvis grinding into my hips, his knees struggling for leverage. I spread my legs, rubbing myself against him. Even with the thin layer of cotton of his underwear between us, I can feel his heat radiating, feel him growing and hardening. He’s panting above me, still thrusting his tongue, fucking my mouth the way he wants to be inside and fucking me.

  God, God help me, it’s exactly what I want too. Raising my knees, wrapping my legs around his waist I rut against him. Already wired, burning up, maybe with enough friction I can get off that way.

  But Vin has none of that. He pants and licks my neck, but pulls away from my mouth, and takes his hand off my breast. He pushes up and away from me as I lay there, helpless. Mercifully, he’s fast though. Smiling at me as he pushes down his boxers, whispering in his deep voice, “Cara mia. I’ve missed you. Christ, I’ve missed you.”

  I reach up for him, and he climbs back on top of me. His hands moving again, sparking everywhere he touches, making everywhere else on my body jealous for the same attention. He squeezes my breast again, this time satisfying me by diving down and kissing the nipple. Then, roughly, sucking on it. A silvery spike of desire surges down my spine, settles in my crotch, making me throb for him. I reach down between us and stroke him – hard, demanding. He’s hot but dry, so I release him just long enough to reach between my own legs, I’m already dripping wet. I use that wetness and start pumping him as I go to work on myself with my other hand, rubbing furiously on us both.

  He groans and thrusts, but again, he’s not having it. He takes hold of my wrists, pulls my hands away and pins them down, clasping tight, one on each side of my head. His ID bracelet now warmed, dangling, brushing against the underside of my forearm. He squeezes tight as he enters me, strong and forceful, his breath hitching on an inhale, mine rushing out as he drives deep.

  Right in my ear, raspy, “You’re mine. You’re mine, Lana.”

  It feels so good, him filling me up, thrusting so deep, hitting exactly the right spot. Hotter, faster, getting me higher, higher. Near frenzied, I buck and try to move to drag it out, but he’s got me clamped down tight, his hands hot and rough. The same hands he’s used against other men. Vinny’s hands that have actually killed men – for me.

  That thought makes me come instantly. Hard, shuddering, no escape as he keeps thrusting, lighting me up brighter than all the neon on the strip. Making me feel more alive than winning a million bucks. He says my name, loud, possessive, and then, softly, “Ti amo.” And then he quivers and comes too.

  It’s twilight when I wake.

  Vinny’s gone. The check is on the bed next to me. No note, no goodbye. Set next to it is my ring. Huge, glistening even in the faint light.

  Of all people in the world, I should have known that Guinea Vinny Vendetti couldn’t be bought.

  At the window, I watch the neon lights flicker on all along the strip.

  I already know that tonight will be the night I lose . . . something.

  I sigh and try to picture the strip back when I first saw it, long before I conquered it. When I was just a little girl. When blackjack was just a game, dice passed time, and my dad held my hand in his as we walked down the street. When the lights were so bright, and I don’t think I’d ever even heard the word “gangster”. When for me, there wasn’t any greed, and there didn’t need to be hope. It was all just contagious energy, circling around, hyping me up, thrilling me just to be hanging out with my cool dad.

  Now I’ve won here, and that’s not supposed to happen. Everyone else who’s ever done it has pushed their luck and walked away a loser. Most people think that’s sad. I think it’s glorious. It means they never gave up hope.

  I twirl the ring around in my fingers, and then, naturally, I slip it on.

  Times change, memories linger, and my hope won’t ever fade.

  It’s time to go home, let Vinny thrill me, and spend the days pushing my luck.

  The Blues Man

  Stanfield Major

  Your man’s out prowlin’ Baby

  Thinks he likes his women tall and thin

  Keep your back door open

  Cause Baby I’ll be comin’ in

  Laura sat in the back of the small club listening to these words filtered through a voice that sounded like gravel being poured down a steel chute. He was a big man and the guitar in his hands almost looked like a toy but the sounds that poured from the speakers were anything but childlike. They were raw and rich and spoke of a world of experience she couldn’t even begin to imagine. She looked around the club and saw a few other white faces but most of the listeners were black.

  She didn’t hang out in blues clubs but she’d turned twenty-one yesterday and had been seeking a place to celebrate her coming of age. The notice in the paper had caught her eye: “J. B. ‘The Blues Man’ Thompson, two nights only!” It was a name that brought back memories. Her dad loved
J. B.’s music and, when in a blues mood, would play his records over and over. So here she was.

  No you don’t have to call me

  I know your man is gone again

  Keep your back door open

  And Baby I’ll be comin’ in

  She figured she must have heard “Keep Your Back Door Open” several thousand times. And once, a couple of years ago, her dad, his tongue loosened by wine, had explained to her that the song was referring to anal sex. It kind of grossed her out to have her dad bring up the subject. But now, hearing J. B.’s powerful delivery over the driving rhythm of bass and drums, punctuated by his forceful guitar work, the obvious depth of his experience made her curious. She shifted in her chair.

  She didn’t have a boyfriend. And would just as soon not think about all that. It was her weight, she felt sure; men didn’t see her. Not sexually anyway. She was a pretty face, a buddy, or a sister. Shit. She was here to have a good time, not cry over all the milk that had been spilled in her life. She sipped her screwdriver, the only drink that came to her mind to order when the waitress asked, and decided that once she’d finished this one she would go home.

  The set ended and J. B. moved through the audience, shaking hands and saying hello. He passed her table and he gave her a look of appreciation before going up to the bar. Several women, much thinner than she, flitted at his elbow. She emptied her glass and was preparing to rise when he turned, ignoring the women around him, and looked at her again. The waitress came and she ordered another screwdriver.

  “Are you enjoying the show?” he asked. His speaking voice sounded as if it had been aged in a charred oak barrel. Up close she could see that the years had poured more salt than pepper into his hair.

  “Oh, yes, Mr Thompson. I think it’s great.”

  “Jesus. My name’s J. B.,” he said. “Call me J. B. Do you mind if I sit down?”

  “Please do. My name’s Laura. Laura Hamilton.”

  He sat and they chatted for a bit. He asked her about herself and seemed genuinely interested in her life. And wished her happy birthday when she mentioned why she was out on the town. He asked about boyfriends and picked up on the feelings of hurt behind her mumbled response. It was a little scary for her to be read so easily by a man she’d only met a few minutes ago. He was calm and a gentleman but there was something in his eyes that told her he didn’t think she was just a pretty face, or a buddy. Most certainly, she was not his sister. The drummer and bass player were back on stage and had started to jam. He excused himself, began to walk toward the stage, and then turned and looked at her. Something in his glance made her realize that he was hoping she would stay. When the waitress came she ordered another screwdriver.